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If I go upstairs, he’ll leave me alone, most likely. I could have a bath, go to bed, and spend the rest of my night in what passes for peace here in this house. But if I don’t—
“Amalie.” There’s steel under the velvet, a clear warning.
I don’t move. Ican’t. Letting him order me around like this, tell me to go upstairs like a child who’s been bad, feels more embarrassing than whatever he’s going to do next. I sit stiffly in my chair, my cheeks flushing, horribly aware that a part of what keeps me glued here is my curiosity about what he plans to ‘force’ me to do. That a part of me wants to know—and wants to do it, whatever it is that he desires.
David reaches for his wine glass, draining it. His tongue flicks out over his lips, collecting a drop there, and I feel that flicker of heat again, a terrible anticipation of what he might do. And when he stands, his gaze gone dark with lust, I feel myself start to ache.
He reaches out, turning my chair to face him. That hand sinks into my hair, fingers running through the thick strands, making a fist in it as his other hand reaches for his zipper. As I suspected, he’s already hard. I can see him straining against the fly of his suit trousers. I watch in mute fascination as his fingers slide his zipper down, his tattooed forearm flexing as he takes his cock in his hand the moment it slips free. His expression is hard and cold as he guides it to my lips, but all I can think of as I look up at him is how stunningly handsome he looks in the dim light, like a chiseled Adonis, a god who could order me to my knees with a word.
“Open your mouth,cara mia,” he murmurs, and my lips part without a thought.
He rubs his cockhead over my lower lip, smearing pre-cum over the soft flesh, and I whimper. I don’t mean to, and he knows it, from the way he laughs darkly in the back of his throat. My tongue flicks out, lapping up the salty taste of him, and I feel as if I’m no longer in control of my own body. As if I’m sitting outside of myself, watching my handsome husband feed his cock between my lips, watching me look up at him with wide-eyed need as he slides himself over my tongue.
“You always want me.” There’s an almost vicious satisfaction in his voice, as if heneedsto say it out loud. As if he needs confirmation that it’s true. “Always.” His hips rock forward, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. My lips close around him, sucking, my tongue sliding over the shaft, teasing the soft spot just beneath the tip that I know is sensitive. He groans, his hand tightening in my hair, and I feel a flush of pleasure, followed by the heat of humiliation, because everything he says is true. No matter what happens between us, I can’t seem to stop wanting him. Even at this moment, sitting here in the chair, gripping the edge of the table as David thrusts into my mouth, doesn’t feel like enough. I want to sink to my knees, slide my hand under my skirt, pleasure myself while he fucks my face. My other hand presses against my thigh, and I think he sees it, because he taps the side of my chin and urges me to look up at him.
“No pleasure for you yet,bellisima,” he murmurs. “But you look so pretty with my cock between your lips; I don’t think I’ll be able to deny you afterward.” The hand in my hair runs through it again, his fingers drifting against the back of my neck, and I shiver. “Swallow my cum like a good girl, and I’ll reward you. Show me how much you want it, Amalie.” He nearly groans my name at the end, as if just saying it arouses him even more.
I moan around his cock. I can’t help it, and I see the way his jaw tightens at the sensation, feel the rock of his hips as he pushes himself to the back of my throat. I slide my tongue over the throbbing veins, trying to take him as far as I can as he urges my head down. I feel myself choke, my throat convulsing around him, and I hear David groan.
“Keep doing that, and you’ll get your reward sooner rather than later.” His fingers stroke the back of my head, urging me on. “God, yes. Just like that—”
I know the rhythm he likes by now, the way I can flutter my tongue against the base when I finally manage to take him deeper, the way his entire body shudders when I slide my mouth nearly off of him and tighten my lips around his tip. I suck harder, giving him the pressure I know he likes, and I feel him throb against my tongue, the movement of his hips stuttering as he hovers on the edge.
“Fuck—” he breathes. “God, Amalie,yes—”
There’s a sincerity to his desire that’s intoxicating. It drives me to try harder, to lick and suck until he’s moaning with every other breath, his cock stiff between my lips, and I look up at him wide-eyed, begging without words for his cum. I roll my tongue against his tip, sliding down again until he rubs against the back of it, and I feel his whole body go rigid as the first wave of his orgasm overtakes him, his hand hard in my hair as he starts to come.
“Amalie—”
The way he groans my name sends a tremor through my entire body. I feel the hot rush of his cum over my tongue, thick and salty, and I swallow it down. My throat works convulsively around his cock as he spills down it, not wanting to spill a drop, wanting that moment to be every bit as good for him as he whispered to me earlier. I don’t stop, not even when he’s leaning over me shuddering, his hips thrusting as the last of it spurts over my tongue. Not until he slides free of my mouth of his own volition, breathing hard, his thumb pressed against the corner of my lips as if to make sure that none of his cum slips free.
Without a word, he lifts me up out of the chair, moving me to the other end of the table where it’s empty and bare. He picks me up as if I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the table, one hand already pushing my skirt up as he reaches for a chair with another, dragging it forward. There’s a dark, hungry look in his eyes that sends waves of desire through me, and I’m dimly aware of how wet I am, of the hollow ache between my legs. I moan helplessly as he pushes my skirt higher, spreading my legs as he sinks down into the chair between them, pulling me to the very edge of the table as he bends down to drag his tongue over the front of the silk panties I’m wearing beneath my skirt.
He moans, the sound muffled, the vibrations shivering over my skin. “You taste—” he breathes the words, warm against my flesh, and I moan again. Both of my legs are hooked over his shoulders, his hands holding my thighs apart as he licks the silk again, adding to the wetness. I gasp as I feel him hook one thumb under the edge of the fabric, pulling them to the side, and then his tongue plunges between my folds.
There’s no teasing, no dragging it out. It’s as if he can’t wait. His tongue slides inside of me, licking, circling, until my hips are arching, and I’m gasping out pleas that don’t entirely form words. My clit is swollen and throbbing, aching for his touch, and at the same time, I never want him to stop fucking me with his tongue. I grind against his mouth, begging between every moan, and I hear his dark, deep laugh as he suddenly slips his tongue free of me and slides it upwards, fluttering it over my clit with a motion that makes me cry out.
“God, yes,” he groans. “Moan for me,cara mia. Let me hear how good this feels.”
My nails scratch against the wood of the table as I buck against his mouth, and he swirls his tongue around my clit again, the vibration of his laugh spreading over me. I can feel his delight in how helpless I am under his touch, how much I want him, and I feel his hand tighten on my thigh, holding me down hard against the table as I writhe.
I’m so close to the edge. He sucks my clit into his mouth, tongue still fluttering over my clit, and I feel like I can’t breathe. Every muscle in my body is tight with pleasure, and then he pushes two fingers into me, curling them as he thrusts them hard into my pussy, and I fall apart.
There’s no doubt that anyone in or around the house hears me scream his name. The orgasm shatters through me, my back arching hard as I come on his tongue, and I feel him lapping up every bit of my arousal, his fingers thrusting as he drags me through the seemingly endless climax. It keeps going, wave after wave of sensation crashing through me until it’s almost too much, and I expect him to stop. To pull away from me, to say something derisive about how easily he can make me fall apart—but hedoesn’t stop.
His tongue lashes over my clit, lips fastened around the sensitive flesh, sucking as intensely as I did with him before. I feel him slip a third finger inside of me, the fullness still not quite as good as his cock, but so fucking close that it keeps that endless pleasure rippling through me. He pushes his fingers into me as deeply as he can, curling them so he can stroke me from the inside, and I feel utterly helpless under the onslaught of his touch. I feel another orgasm building, the pleasure quick and sharp this time, driving every conscious thought out of my head.
It’s almost too much—and then itistoo much, the oversensitivity making the pleasure ride the knife’s edge of pain. “I can’t—” I gasp out, pushing reflexively at his shoulder, but he just laughs again, that dark, deep sound that ripples over me. Something about his insistence on continuing to pleasure me, the endless flutter of his tongue, the way his mouth is devouring me until I’m swollen and sore, drives me over the edge again. Except it’s no longer a climax; it’s an endless ebb and flow of pleasure and pain, every nerve in my body raw and tingling. I sag back against the table, twitching under his touch as he strips me bare of every bit of pleasure that I have to give.
When he pulls back, his hair tousled and lips swollen, he’s never looked more gorgeous. He looks half-mad with lust, his mouth glistening with my arousal, his fingers still buried inside of me as he looks down, looming over me. “We’re not done,” he growls hoarsely, crooking his fingers as I whimper helplessly, and I see that he’s hard again. His cock is stiff against his belly, leaking pre-cum and visibly throbbing, and before I can say a word or move, he surges between my thighs, grabbing my wrists and pinning them over my head.
“David—” I moan his name, writhing under him as his swollen cockhead pushes against my entrance. I feel battered with pleasure, every part of me soft and sore with the endless orgasms he dragged me through, and I don’t know if I can take any more. But I also don’t know if he’s going to give me a choice.
I don’t know if I want him to.
“Say you want me.” His hips rock forward, nudging just the tip of his cock inside of me, his voice a near-feral growl. “Tell me the truth,cara mia. Tell me you need my cock. Tell me how much you want me to fuck you.”
There’s something almost like begging in his voice, his eyes wide and dark with need, only the very tip of his cock rubbing inside of me as his hips shift forward. A cruel, angry part of me wants to throw it back into his face, to tell him that Idon’tneed him, that I don’t want him. That fucking me right now would be taking me against my will—but I know it would be a lie. Just the slight pressure of him inside of me has my hips arching, my body begging for more, for the fullness that I’ll feel when he thrusts every inch into me.
